Tales from the Crackerbox
by netrat
Summary: In response to the AWOL Challenge, this is what Newkirk did during “The Crittendon Plan“... Have fun, anyone who likes an extra helping of cooler conversations, pink geraniums, and frauleins with no clothes on.


_This little story, which I started about a year ago but never got round to posting, is my special Christmas present for Linda Groundwater, who is not only a very dedicated writer, but also the nicest and most encouraging person I've met on the web. Have a very merry X-mas, Linda!_

_DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Hogan's Heroes._

_SUMMARY: In response to the AWOL Challenge, this is what Newkirk did during "The Crittendon Plan"... Have fun, anyone who likes an extra helping of cooler conversations, pink geraniums, and _frauleins_ with no clothes on._

_This is my fourth Hogan's Heroes fanfic and also my response to the AWOL Challenge, posted ages ago by Lauren (the Oboe one) of Smartgroups. The rules and requirements, for short: Someone at Bing Crosby Productions apparently thought we'd enjoy an episode without Newkirk, well we don't, so I'm writing Newkirk's part of said episode ("The Crittendon Plan"). I don't endorse all of the things said here... sometimes, it's just the Englishman speaking. :-)_

**_Tales from the Crackerbox_**

**_by netrat_**

**1**

So. There's me again, kneeling in Klink's office at three o'clock in the afternoon, trying not to listen to the guards outside and to quickly do a job that you really shouldn't rush. Just another deadly dull day in the life of a prisoner, as my favourite Yank would say. Frankly, I used to feel a lot safer back in London, doing the odd bit of forgery in between magic tricks. At least occasionally it would be nice if a bloke could get the "dull" part of prison life here, not just the "deadly" one.

Anyway, there's me and Klink's bloody crackerbox of a safe, which pops open with just a little assistance. When I come back, I'll be the best magician the Brits have ever seen – nothing can beat that amount of practice right under the Jerries' noses. Talk about an audience of critics! Inside the crackerbox is a heap of Luftwaffe papers, but I don't spent much time with that… anything recent they sent to Klink of all people can't really be that important, now can it? Instead, I'm going right for the nice little codebook lying in a corner. One thing that always amazes me about the Krauts is that they never seem to learn. I mean, after all this time, surely _someone_ in Berlin must have realized that Klink's safe is probably not the most secure place in all of Germany, no matter how often he claims it is! Bloody hell, it's not like they take his word on anything else!

I get LeBeau's sneaky little camera out and am taking pictures as fast as I can, while outside Carter and Kinch are engaged in a shouting match that should keep the guards distracted… not that anyone but Klink is supposed to come in here, but you never know. I put the codebook back as soon as I'm finished, close the safe and prepare to waltz out, when…

Bloody bad luck! The door to the outer office opens and in walks the only person with a reason to distract me. The steps tell it all, really – Hilda doesn't swagger like that, and Schultz approaching feels like an earthquake. I make haste to hide in the only place big enough – the closet in Klink's office. We've used it once or twice in the past, for LeBeau to sit in there and spy on Klink meeting important officers. That one time when General Schrader just wouldn't go away, he sat in there for hours while Schultzie went looking for him all over camp. Still, I'm three feet taller than the little frog, and so I'm stooping and gen'rally feeling miserable while Klink walks briskly and efficiently into the office. That's about the only thing that man can do briskly and efficiently. Walking.

The guys are probably going nuts out there, seein' as how they must have noticed Klink coming in... Still, no worries, I tell myself. After all, the closet, which contains Klink's dress uniform, is unlikely to be opened unless the Iron Eagle suddenly got himself a date or an invitation to a party... which means that I'm really quite safe. Or at least that's what I'm thinking when I suddenly hear a loud thumping sound on the door. He must have banged something, probably that bloody spikey helmet, against it when he was walking by. Unfortunately, he made me jump and hit my head on the ceiling.

Ouch... Bloody 'ell! I bite back the comment, but he's already heard the noise. Klink might be dense as a brick, but he's not deaf. He opens the closet.

"'ello, Kommandant." I try to grin but it comes across a bit forced.

He just stares at me like I suddenly turned into Winston Churchill or something. Klink is good at staring, maybe not as good as at walking, but still.

"What are you doing in my closet... Schuuuuultz!"

I'm holding the grin while my mind is racing for a plausible excuse.

**2**

Schultz comes rolling in, followed by Hogan (whose uncanny instinct for where to be was probably helped by the fact that he sent me there in the first place). The Colonel doesn't waste any time saluting… in fact, I can almost see the words "Geneva Convention" forming on his tongue, before he catches himself and throws me a glance. All right, Guv'nor, I understand… your plans might not include getting me out of here right now. Well, I can wait. I know he'd get me out if he could – you can trust the Guv'nor that way.

I'm feeling quite embarrassed, actually. The last time I got caught in the act was when I was eight and picked the lock on Mavis' diary to see what she was always giggling about. Thinking about that, while standing to attention in front of the Irate Eagle, actually cheers me up a bit. Try as he might, Klink isn't a patch on dear old sis' when it comes to looking furious. The hiding she gave me after that stunt was almost enough to set me on the straight and narrow path again. Almost. Damn, I'm missing the girl… I'd love to see her staring down some of the Krauts, shouting "So you think that's good enough an excuse, do you?" at Goering with her hands on her hips and the dish towel slung over her shoulder.

Hogan, meanwhile, is selling Klink some crackpot story about what I've done in that closet… apparently I've been stealing his dress uniform 'cause I'm such a fan of his authoritarian leadership style. Oh boy, as Carter would say. The Colonel doesn't seem too sure about the story himself, but talking much and fast is all you really need to convince Klink. His brain can't keep up with the words. Still, he threatens to send me to the cooler for thirty days and Hogan, after bargaining for a mere two weeks ("But Kommandant, he only did it because he admires you!"), leaves it at that. I can tell he's got something else on his mind.

**3**

It's nice and quiet in my cell… bloody boring, in fact, but not for long. Soon, the stone that covers the tunnel exit shifts and Hogan climbs through to visit me. For an officer, the Colonel sure spends a lot of time in prison… not that I'm complaining. It's nice to have company even if they don't know the King's English.

"Did you get the pictures? Good job."

I hand him the camera and he stuffs it in his bomber jacket. "Sorry 'bout the cooler but we I don't want Klink to feel we're putting one over him…"

"What, like that would _ever_ happen?"

"… when we've got something bigger going." The Colonel then continues to tell me the news from London.

"They what? We're not a bloody travel agency, are we? Day trips to Stalag 16 – get your money back if you're shot dead!"

Hogan offers a grin: "Newkirk, ever thought of going into advertising?" Nothing like a Colonel that knows how to motivate his men, I always say.

"We're all set", he continues, turning his head as we both hear a scurrying sound… no worries, it's just a plain old German rat. "Carter's escaping tonight, I'm going after him tomorrow, we'll get this officer and meet these people and be right back for breakfast. Piece of cake." From what I've heard from a recently downed flyer, some of the guys in London are quite sure by now that Papa Bear is nuts. Well, you can't blame them, can you?

"One question, sir. What song would you like us to play for your and Carter's funeral?"

"I appreciate the thought… _Stars and Stripes Forever_ will do just fine."

I just can't leave off. "And LeBeau'll cook a nice meal of spam and mashed eggs, for the wake."

"Save me a plate, will you?" He winks and turns around to climb back into the tunnel, after promising to send me the frog with some dinner. I watch him go and picture him and Carter getting ready for their crazy little trip. Is my Colonel insane? Yeah. Would I follow him no matter what? Definitely. Frankly, despite all my misgivings about this whole thing, I wish I were in Carter's place – there's simply _no_ telling what Sergeant Hey-Do-You-Like-My-Exploding-Razor will get up to if you leave him alone for a night. Still, the Colonel knows best and he trusts Carter with this… but if any of them don't come back, I can promise that a few Baby Bears will be _very_ angry.

**4**

I tend to sleep quite well in the cooler, especially after some of LeBeau's newest unpronounciably-named creation (which hopefully doesn't involve dead frogs, he wouldn't tell me). You don't get roll call, that's at least one bonus of being stuck here. Still, any thoughts of a lie-in disappear quickly by the time Klink's voice filters through my dreams: "Escape?! Schultz, did you sound the alarm? Sound the alarm!"

I'm up and by the cell door in a second, trying to hear what they're talking about outside. Some nonsense about Carter thinking like a dog, and the usual threat of Klink being sent to the Russian front… Then the Colonel gets himself and Schultz ordered to go looking for Carter. How anyone that good at psychology can be such a lousy poker player is beyond me. Then again, I always cheat.

The rest of the day is pretty quiet… not surprising since the Colonel's gone. No-one left to shout about the Geneva Convention or fast-talk Schultzie into letting secrets slip. Kinch pops in to visit me in the afternoon.

"Want something to read?" He hands me a slim booklet. It's a radio manual. In German.

"Kinch, mate, you've been holding that job way too long."

He tries to look offended, and fails.

"Well, what would you have?"

"Magazines, Kinch." I'm doing my best to sound like Schultzie when he's bargaining for English chocolate and cigarettes. "With _frauleins_ in them! _Frauleins_ with no clothes on!"

Kinch promises _frauleins_ at dinner time and sits down on my cot to worry about the Guv'nor. I can tell he's about as happy about the whole thing as I am, so I try to cheer him up: "Anyway, that officer's plan must be pretty good if London goes to all that trouble for him." _Makes us go to all that trouble_ is more like it, but no sense in dwelling on the details. Kinch looks up, slightly alarmed.

"So… the Colonel didn't tell you who the officer is?"

Now it's me who's alarmed. "Anyone I know?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so." Kinch crosses his arms. "Guess."

A disturbing image pops up in my mind. "I got a guess but there's no way I'm saying it."

"If it's Critten-"

"No!"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Colonel Rodney Crittendon: Imagine your typical British officer – the opera version, anyway –, ten times magnified. Stupid, pompous, Every-Prisoner's-Duty-Is-To-Escape Crittendon. He even used to have a swagger stick, but he got rid of it after skewering Hogan's cap and shirt… actually, Hogan got rid of it after Crittendon nearly got him killed by getting him on a train that was about to explode. He's about the lousiest officer you could possibly serve under, but the fact that he's British makes it much worse. A stupid pompous Frenchman I could deal with. A stupid pompous American – no problem. (Actually, any country that got Hogan probably needs to have some truly awful officer in its ranks, just to keep a balance). As it is, I'm frankly embarrassed by Crittendon, although in the interest of fairness I'll say that he's probably also embarrassed by me. I have a feeling he thinks we're all Nazi spies because we're still here.

He likes Carter. That says a lot, really.

Okay, I'll take that back, or at least half of it. I mean, _I_ like Carter, even though I'd rather bite my tongue than admit it most of the time. Still, Carter's the only one of us Crittendon likes. He's especially unhappy about taking advice from Hogan… he thinks he's immediately the boss just because he outranks our Colonel. Heck, if we put that much store on ranks here, we'd all be taking orders from _Sergeant_ Carter and probably wouldn't survive the day. (I mean, making stuff explode, yes. Coming up with workable mission plans, a definite no.)

"And they really call it the Crittendon Plan?" I'm about ninety percent sure that Kinch has just made that up, but then I think of some of the stunts London has pulled and suddenly the remaining ten percent carry a lot of weight.

"Honestly, yes. No idea what it's about, though."

"Probably something really stupid involving a swagger stick."

Kinch snickers, but I can see he's still worried… as am I. That mission sounded bad enough when the Colonel told me about it, _without_ mentioning that my country's biggest nutcase is supposed to provide the blueprints. The best thing you can say about Crittendon is that he's a loyal British soldier. Unfortunately, he's the kind of guy who'd be of much more service to the Allies if he were a loyal _German_ soldier. Me an' LeBeau actually put forth a theory once (we were both drunk then, but still) that maybe the Jerries forged his birth certificate and planted him as a Kraut spy. I mean, even Klink's more efficient than him!

**5**

After Kinch leaves, the rest of the day passes in silent boredom. Seems like the guys have forgotten all about me… With Schultz gone, there aren't enough guards to bother about checking the cooler, so I decide to use the tunnel to get back into the barracks. Neither Kinch nor LeBeau are there. Olsen says they've gone out and points to the tunnel. I finally meet them in the radio room where they sit and glumly stare at the equipment.

"Any news from the Colonel?"

Kinch shakes his head, looking tired. "No, from London. Apparently they told us to get the wrong Crittendon."

"The wrong -" I'm not easily baffled, but this does the trick. Kinch gives me a short re-telling of the message that just came in. I only interrupt him a few times:

"_Geraniums_? Like, bloody pink flowers?"

"_Oui_. To be planted all along the runways."

"That does it! He _is_ a Kraut spy, I'm sure of it now!"

LeBeau jumps in with an acceptable imitation of Allied High Command, going: "You see, we just got our wires crossed. You must understand our mistake. I'm sure your Colonel will understand it if he's still alive!"

It's a good thing that I'm standing right under a prison camp in the middle of Germany. Back home, a man could get court-martialed for some of the things I say next.

"Always nice to see a patriot at work", Kinch finally comments and I glare daggers at him.

"Look, I'm revoking their citizenships… and especially Crittendon's! You can 'ave 'im! I'll even wrap 'im up with a nice pink bow!"

"… and a geranium tied in the middle", Kinch offers, half-smiling.

"Yeah, that too. Look, guys, the Guv'nor an' Carter will be all right. They've been on missions with that nutter more than once, and always came back."

"Still, they haven't got a plan this time." Kinch is right, of course, but --

"Come on! Who could possibly think up a better plan than our Colonel?"

They nod, almost in unison. Both of them know I'm right, as do I, but we're still worried. I sit down next to LeBeau and pat my pocket till Kinch offers me a cigarette. We all stare at the radio, not talking. Much as I hate going out and being shot at by Kraut soldiers, or picking their pockets knowing that any false move means a firing squad; much as I should feel safe here, in the dark tunnel – I know the waiting is really the hardest part.

**6**

They're back. Of course they're back. Nothing short of the entire German army could stop Papa Bear from returning, and even then he'd probably find a way to talk himself out of trouble. I'm in the cooler again and so is Carter, who got himself thirty days for attempting to escape. Well, actually, for not knowing when to shut up… but that's sort of the unofficial explanation.

The Colonel only dropped in to say hello before taking off towards the Hammelburg road. From what I gathered, he's meeting with a girl whose guardian will kill him if he finds out. Well, I'm sure it's not the first time the Guv'nor has been facing that particular problem.

"And then while I was packing the dynamite the girl took Crittendon into the woods, but not what you think, she just wanted to trick him into letting slip his plan… it wasn't what he thought either, he looked pretty depressed when they came back… anyway, she found that his plan was all about planting flowers and then the man smashed the radio 'cause he thought we were all spies, which we are of course, just not German spies, but it turned out okay 'cause Colonel Hogan said they should shoot us if they wanted, and they looked like they would, I was really afraid for a moment, but then they didn't and instead we went and blew up the convoy –"

"Carter."

"Boy, you should have seen it, I had to play a Kraut officer… I went all 'Were you instructed to stop for every hitchhiker, Sergeant?' and he was really afraid of me…" Carter's cheerful face darkens for a moment. "I probably shouldn't like it when I do that, but it was really neat! And then I told the Colonel to inspect the truck and Crittendon crawled under it with the bomb and –"

"Carter! You've already told me the whole bloody story! Twice, in fact."

"—and it went off right in the tunnel, as it should, and there was this huge explosion –" Carter falls silent. Then: "Oh, I did, didn't I?"

"Yes. Twice."

"Sorry then, I must have got carried away."

"Yes, I could hear that."

Suddenly he looks crestfallen. It's easy to bring little Andy down, but it's about as much fun as kicking a puppy. Besides, him being silent is unnerving. "Oh, all right. I bet it was a sight for sore eyes. Did you get rid of the paranoid loonies and our favourite nutter all right?"

"Yes, except that the girl kissed the Colonel and the man went sort of mad when he saw that, but –"

I lean back and close my eyes, concentrating to the bustle outside and Carter's voice droning on. It's a bit like being back in my favourite London pub, half-listening to the conversations going on around me… except there's no beer, and no girls, and a bloody uncomfortable cot to sit on. Still, I decide, eyes closed, for the moment it's all right.

THE END

How do you like it? Reviews are appreciated!


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